


Feel Like This

by DiamondsxStags



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, i have never seen the dr strange movie drag me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:10:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondsxStags/pseuds/DiamondsxStags
Summary: You came to Stephen an eager student, and he would never be the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I highly highly highly recommend installing the InteractiveFics extension from the Chrome store if you can. To add your name and last name simply install the extension, then click ‘Need to replace something other than Y/N?’ and in the value bar put Name and put your name in the Replace With bar, then click change! And be sure to tick Store this replacement so that you don’t have to do it every time.

It had been six months since you had arrived at the Sanctum, and while initially Stephen had been reluctant to let you in, he was glad he did.

You had arrived as a pilgrim of sorts, seeking out ‘arcane knowledge’ as you had put it.

“If you wish to learn the Mystic Arts-” Stephen had begun to say, but you cut him off.

“I have my own magic.” And with that you stretched out an arm, and formed a sphere that seemed to be made out of smoke in your palm. “I was born with it.” You had said, in answer to Stephen’s unspoken question. “But I want to learn. Please, just let me learn.”

And who was Stephen to turn away a willing student?

Almost instantly you became a source of fascination and curiosity to everyone within the Sanctum, from the greenest apprentice to the most experienced master. None of them had ever seen power like yours, and to learn that it was a natural gift was an even bigger surprise. You denied being a mutant, which left everyone wondering how you came to acquire your powers.

“I stopped asking that question a long time ago.” Was your reply whenever you were asked.

Stephen personally took you under his wing, as he saw it as his duty as he was the Master of the New York Sanctum. He taught you everything he had learned at the Kamar Taj, trained you in martial arts and gave you books to read. While he had been unsure as to how you would adjust, to his surprise you took to it like a duck to water. Your agility was impressive, your strength and endurance moreso. And Stephen never had to ask you twice to open a book and absorb the knowledge within. It appeared that your desire to learn was genuine, and Stephen was consistently impressed by you.

This soon turned to fondness. And this in turn became love. Which left Stephen at a loss.

After Christine, Stephen began to think he was the kind of man who was ill-suited to relationships. While he had been a different person then, the thought still plagued him. That old arrogance was still there, lurking in the shadows, and even after his metamorphoses, Stephen could be hard to get on with. And then there was the issue of your age.

You were young. Far too young for a man like Stephen, at least in his opinion. He was of course aware of relationships with age gaps like the one that existed between the two of you, and ones where the gap was even more significant, but he still hesitated. He worried you saw him as being too old for you (God knew that was what he had thought at that age), or that you only saw him as a mentor. He didn’t know how he would react if he poured his heart to you, only to have you tell him that you saw him as a teacher, a guide, and nothing more.

Well, he had an idea at least. He imagined he would try and find the deepest, darkest hole he could and throw himself into it.

So he endeavoured to nip these feelings in the bud, but that proved to be far easier said than done. You were vivacious, eager, and possessed a charm that was laced with sweetness and sincerity. It was all a very dangerous combination. At least in Stephen’s opinion. It was as if the universe had purposefully sent him someone he would not help but fall in love with.

More than once he had been tempted to use the Eye to see in the future, or to peer into the other dimensions to find one where the two of were in love and happy. But he never dared. He was too afraid of what he may find.

So he told himself to be content with what he had now. No matter how difficult that may be.

* * *

“You know this really has to stop.”

Stephen turned to Wong with a raised brow and a frown. “What does?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“All of this lovesick pining you do.” Wong waved a hand, although whether it was to describe said pining or his irritation with it, Stephen didn’t know. “It was funny at first but it’s gotten really old.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stephen replied calmly, despite the fact that he could feel his face flushing and he imagined it was only a few shades lighter than his cloak.

Wong snorted. “And I’m the queen of England.” He deadpanned. “Have you tried, you know, talking to her about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Clearly this displeased Wong, as he gave Stephen the most withering look he had ever seen. “I don’t know if you think you’re good at faking, but I will tell you right now you’re not.” He climbed up a ladder and ran a finger along the spine of a row of books before finding the one he wanted. “And if I have to go through another day of seeing you like that I might just tell her myself.”

“No!” The suddenness of Stephen’s reply, along with how loud it was, surprised him, but Wong appeared to be unfazed. “I mean…” Stephen tried to think of something to say, but all the words he had ever learned disappeared, leaving him with a dry mouth and throat.

Wong raised his head and seemed to be far too amused for Stephen’s liking. “It won’t kill you to be honest you know.” He pointed out.

“Easy for you to say.” Stephen retorted, having re-found words. “It wouldn’t be your dignity at risk.”

“Oh I’m well aware of that. Why do you think I want you to do it so badly?” He grinned.

Now with a face definitely as red as his cloak, Stephen stormed off, leaving Wong to chortle.

* * *

Frowning, Stephen ran his eyes over the large, thick, heavy tome that sat on the desk in front of him. The cover was as black as onyx and he suspected that once it had shone and looked very grand indeed. But the lacquer had long since dried and started to peel, and the edges of the pages were so yellowed it was hard to imagine any of them had once been pure white.

Tony had found it during a raid of a HYDRA base and taken it straight to Stephen, suspecting it to be a magical artifact of some sort. Stephen could definitely something deep and old and powerful emanating from it, but he didn’t know what it was. And he didn’t know if he wanted to know.

“Stephen?”

At the sound of his name, Stephen looked over his shoulder, but he knew who had spoken. “Name. Is something wrong?”

“Wong told me Mr Stark brought something to the Sanctum.” Your eyes landed on the tome. “Is that it?”

Stephen nodded and he gestured for you to come forward. He watched as you did so, although with an apprehension he hadn’t seen since your first few days at the Sanctum and you had yet to build up your confidence. “I’m not sure what it is.” He admitted. “So be careful.”

But it appeared he needn’t had bothered to warn you, as you seemed determined to keep your distance from the possible artifact. You remained a few steps behind Stephen, your eyes boring into the tome. The look in your eyes was so unusual and foreign, at least on your face, that it took Stephen a few, very confused moments to realize what it was.

Fear.

“Everything’s perfectly fine.” He said, trying to soothe you despite what he had just said before. “You can step closer.”

But you shook your head firmly. “It-It’s alright.” You said. “So…have you read it?”

Deciding to leave you be for now, Stephen nodded. “But I can’t understand any of it.” He opened it up again, as if hoping that it would make sense this time around. But the words remained a cipher in a hand that was at times elegant, at others rushed. “Wong hasn’t come across anything like it, but he’s trying to find any information that could-are you alright?”

Your face had gone unusually pale and you looked on the brink of heaving. Without waiting for you to reply, Stephen put an arm around you to keep you steady. He quickly shed one of his gloves and pressed his hand to your forehead, grateful for the fact that he could pass the shaking off as his usual hand tremors rather than admit to it being nerves. “You’re burning up!” He said, shocked that you had managed to fall so badly under the weather so quickly.

“I’m fine.” You croaked in a manner that very clearly showed you were anything but fine.

Without a second thought, Stephen lead you out of his office to take you to your room, asking you if you had been sleeping well, how much water you had had that day, if it was that particular time of the month.

“Stephen really there’s no need to fuss!” You protested. “There’s nothing wrong!”

“Who’s the one with the medical degree here.” As Stephen went through every illness that could possibly be responsible for this sudden change in you, he hadn’t yet noticed that this was the closest the two of had ever been physically. It only occurred to him when he laid you down on your bed, and the realization hit him, along with the fact that you were lying down, gazing up at him with half lidded eyes and a half open mouth, like in so many of his dreams.

Feeling utterly mortified, Stephen managed to get out a “I’ll get you some water!” before leaving your room and almost slamming the door behind him.

As Stephen waited for his heart rate to decrease, he had his back pressed against the door, trying his very best to resist the urge to bang his head against the nearest hard surface.

‘ _Pull yourself together you fucking idiot!_ ’ He scolded himself, but his heart continued to beat wildly, like a door in a hurricane.

* * *

When Stephen found you, you were sitting in an armchair in the library. It had been a few days since the incident in his office, and despite your protests Stephen gave you strict instructions to not over exert yourself, even going as far as to use his medical degree as leverage over you.

That was another thing he adored about you; your stubbornness. Which was unusual as when other people were stubborn it tended to annoy him. But your stubbornness always came from a well-meaning place, like everything else you did. You always seemed to act, first and foremost, with your heart and soul.

Apparently hearing his footsteps, you looked up from your book and gave Stephen a smile that made his knees go weak. “Stephen, did you need me for something?”

‘ _More than you know._ ’ “No, I just wanted to check on you.”

You smiled wider, making it harder for Stephen to breathe. “That’s very kind of you.”

Without warning, Stephen’s cloak flew off from his shoulders and wrapped around you, settling on your lap as if it was a beloved pet. This wasn’t the first time the cloak had done this. It appeared that it had developed fond feelings for you (the fact that it could feel anything at all still baffled Stephen), and was loathe to waste an opportunity to get close to you. The cloak was able to do just about everything Stephen wanted to do, purely by virtue of being a cloak.

You laughed, the library ringing with the sweet sound, as you gently stroked the cloak. “Did you miss me?” You cooed teasingly.

The cloak responded by nuzzling your face, making you laugh again.

Stephen smiled, feeling both elated to see you in such a state of joy, and jealous that it was his cloak making you feel that way.

(And then he felt ridiculous for being jealous of the cloak.)

* * *

That night, Stephen dreamed of you again.

His dreams of you went one of two ways.

In some, the two of you are immeasurably happy. The sun was always shining and the weather was always good and Stephen couldn’t stop smiling. He would lift you up in his arms, spin you around as you laugh and squeal in delight. You are both in your own home, with no one to bother either of you. There are no otherworldly threats to the universe. Everything smells like vanilla and cinnamon and when Stephen kisses you he tastes Eden.

He is not having one of those dreams.

This dream sees him throwing you onto his bed, climbing on top of you as his mouth latches onto your neck, alternating between kissing and biting. You mewl and cry out as you run your nails down his back, making Stephen groan.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, hazy with lust, and holds your wrists above your head. “Bad girl.” He whispers, his lips so close to your ear that you shiver. “What have I said about scratching?”

You whine and stutter out an apology to which Stephen can only tsk. He makes a gesture with his free hand and uses his magic to form chains that bind your wrists together, so that both of his hands are able to wander your body.

Even though he has never had the privilege to map out your body in real life, in the dreams you are soft and sensitive, the trailing of his fingers along the parts where your body dips and then expands making you moan, making you beg.

There has never been a sweeter or more erotic sound to Stephen’s ears than the dream version of you begging.

(He could only imagine how he would react to the real version of you doing it.)

* * *

Stephen gritted his teeth as he tried to land a hit on you with his whip, but as usual that proved to be far easier said than done.

You rolled out of the way, dirt staining your training clothes and getting into your hair as you formed a shield made of thick black smoke, successfully blocking Stephen’s attack. You rose to your feet and charged. You dodged every lashing Stephen sent out, moving as if you were a swan gliding across a lake, before finally knocking him onto his back.

Stunned and winded, Stephen could only blink and once again marvel at just how sturdy the things you conjured could be before he felt something lapping at his neck. When he looked down he saw a dagger, pressed to his throat, and when he looked up he saw you, kneeling and taking up his whole view. Your head was blocking out most of the now low hanging sun, leaving what was left to make something like a halo around you, outlining you in gold.

Stephen’s heart jumped right up into his throat and he found himself at a loss for words.

Taking his silence of adoring reverence for one of admitted defeat, you smiled and dispelled the shield and dagger, rising to your feet with an outstretched hand. Stephen took it and rose with you, his whip disappearing.

“I didn’t hurt you too badly did I?” You asked immediately.

Stephen couldn’t help but smile. He found your fretting endearing, and loved how it revealed your soft heart. “I’m perfectly fine.” He assured you. “You did very well today, you’re improving quickly.”

You beamed, seeming to glow under Stephen’s praise, making his heart flutter. “Thank you.” You said, sounding breathless.

Still smiling, Stephen noticed that Wong was watching the two of you from a window. When he saw that he had been spotted, he pointed at you urgently, raising his brows. Stephen immediately looked away. “Get some rest, you’ve earned it.” He smiled and patted your shoulder before walking away.

“Stephen.”

The urgentness and hesitation in your voice makes him stop, and he turns to face you, suddenly worried. “What’s wrong?” He asked, immediately going back to your side, genuinely afraid now.

You gaze up him, your beautiful eyes filled with unease and it makes him grip your shoulders. “Stephen.” You whisper, and it sends the sweetest of shivers down his spine.

“Yes?”

The two of you gaze at each other in silence, and Stephen searched your face, trying to find what it was that was bothering you.

You took a step forward, so that only a small sliver of space existed between the two of you. Stephen’s breath caught in his throat.

“Stephen.”

Who knew his name could sound so sweet?

“Name.” He licked his lips. “Are you…are sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” You whispered. “Nothing-no one, has ever made me feel like this.”

He isn’t sure who moved first. He thinks it might’ve been him, but who can say? All he knew was that he was kissing you, his arms around your waist and your hands clinging onto his chest.

As fireworks explode inside Stephen he pulls away, gazing into your eyes. “I love you.” He whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would lead to the moment shattering.

You smiled. “No shit Sherlock.”

Stephen snorted with laughter before capturing your lips in another kiss.

* * *

When Stephen awoke the next day, he saw that the other side of his bed was messy. For a moment he was confused, as that didn’t usually happen, before he remembered.

Last night, after finally opening his heart up to you and watching in astonishment as you did the same, he took you to his room. Nothing really happened, just lots more kissing and cuddling as you were both so tired and sore from training, but that hardly mattered. You had been in his arms and your mouth had been kissing him and his mouth had been kissing you and nothing had ever felt so perfect.

Overwhelmed with the urge to kiss you again, Stephen got up, threw on some sweatpants and a shirt, and went off to find you.

He immediately went to the library, every step feeling lighter than the last.

When he opened the door, he was brought back down to earth.

Wong was lying on the ground, eyes shut and groaning.

Stephen went to his knees and helped the other man up, his heart hammering. “What happened?!” He asked frantically. “Who did this?!”

Once he was firmly on his feet, Wong looked at Stephen with the most stricken expression he had ever seen on anyone. “Stephen-I-I’m sorry.”

“What happened Wong?”

“Name.” He said softly, casting his eyes downwards.

All at one Stephen’s guts constricted and his heart froze while his brain went into overdrive, thinking of every possible scenario that would’ve lead to this. “Where is she? Wong where’s Name?!”

“She took the book Stephen.” Wong croaked, still unable to look up. “I ran into her last night, here, and she…” He trailed off, but Stephen was more than capable of putting two and two together.

And as he did so, he felt his heart shatter, and already knew that what had happened to his hands would always pale in comparison to this kind of hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

When you open your eyes, you are back on the battlefield.

 

You have been here so many times you would be able to recognise it from the smell of death and the cawing of the feasting crows alone. You trudge forward, bare feet sinking into mud and blood, easily and skillfully avoiding soldiers that have been dead for far longer than their corpses would have you believe.

 

In the center, amid the carnage, stands a figure clad in black armour, and it is he you are walking towards.

 

He is hunched over, looking weary and you can feel his bone deep ache just by looking at him, can taste his blood on your tongue.

 

When you stand beside him, the two of you gaze down at a man in armour the colour of the moon, and shining just as bright despite the muck everywhere else. His helmet has been cast aside, and a wide river of blood flows from his grey and time weathered temple to beneath his chest plate. Grey eyes stare upwards, and though you know him to be dead you feel as if he is staring at you, taking you in, and finding you wanting.

 

“It should have ended here.”

 

You turn to Mordred, and see his deep, dark eyes staring into his father’s. No matter how familiar you may become with this scene, you know that Mordred will always know it infinitely better than you.

 

The wind picks up, and you slide a hand in Mordred’s.

 

“Even in death, I am haunted by and lead to betrayal.”

 

Both of you close your eyes, holding back tears.

 

* * *

The second time you open your eyes, you are back on the plane.

 

All the other passengers seemed to be asleep, leaving you more alone with your thoughts than you would’ve liked. You looked out the window and gazed into the depths of the moonless sky. The stars twinkled, like Arthur’s eyes, and they had the same effect of making all of your hairs stand on end.

 

You turned to your left and saw Mordred, the thick black smoke of his form waving and curling, as his eyes stared ahead. “You know why it had to be done.” His voice was hoarse, weary from all the long years he had spent on this Earth. He closed his eyes, reclined back into the seat, but his brow remained furrowed and his lips thin. Silently, he raised a hand, ran a smoky finger along the underside of the overhead compartment, where his mother’s grimoire lurked. “But I am sorry all the same.”

 

And you knew that he was. Mordred had always been honest with you, a luxury the dead can afford, but it did little to ease your heart.

 

It had not been easy to find the New York Sanctum, and it had been harder still to gain the trust of everyone there. For a while, you had wondered if they had all seen through you, had seen why you were truly there. But with each conversation and shared joke, it grew easier, and your circle of friends grew as well, until you were able to confidently say that you were on good terms with everyone at the Sanctum. But it was leaving Stephen that had hurt you the most.

 

You had not expected to fall so madly in love with him, but fall you did. It had been easy, he was good and patient and brave. Perhaps, in one of the other dimensions he could see into, the two of you were happy. But it wasn’t going to be this one. This was the one where you put the world first, and broke your own heart in the process. And you would do it all again if you could. Better to live with a broken heart and see another day, than with a heart that was intact in a world that was not.

 

So you had to take the book. You had to, as you were the only one in the Sanctum, perhaps the only one in the whole of New York, who knew what it was and what it could lead to and that it needed to be destroyed. But you were not strong enough to do so. Even if you let Mordred possess you fully, the two of you in tandem would not be able to make so much as a scratch. There only two people capable of that; Mordred’s mother, and Merlin. And seeing as the former was more likely to use the book for her own nefarious ends, you had to seek out the latter.

 

You had wanted to tell Stephen about this, truly you had, but Mordred had warned you against it. He feared his mother would learn of her grimoire’s whereabouts, and no amount of masters of the mystic arts would be able to stop her if that happened. Getting her grimoire back would restore to her full power, and she would decimate everything and everyone in her path, and you couldn’t stand to have even the possibility of that on your conscience. Of course it had been an atrociously huge gamble, to hang around the Sanctum in the hopes of the grimoire either ending up there or learning of it’s whereabouts while there. For a while, you wondered if perhaps you had made a mistake, and debated between staying or leaving and search more actively. But in the end, you had stayed. Whether it was out of hope of the grimoire landing in your lap or because of Stephen, was a brand new debate.

 

* * *

The rest of your flight passed without dreams of battlefields and one sided conversations with long dead princes, and you awoke just before touching down in Paris.

 

As you cut through the crowd with your sports bag, the only one you had brought, the grimoire continued to hum, almost vibrating. You weren’t sure if that was the cause of your sudden nausea, and you didn’t really want to know.

 

“We can make it to the forest in good time if we leave now.” Mordred pointed out as you tried to find a cab.

 

‘ _ I need a car first. _ ’ You responded in your thoughts, unable to properly form words.  _ ‘Once I get one we can go.’ _

 

You approached a cabbie who appeared to be unoccupied and asked her to take you to the nearest car rental place, in perfect French that seemed to surprise her. You kept the conversation polite but scarce, as you were still too focused on what you had to do

 

“I believe in you.” Mordred whispered, even though you were the only person who could hear him. “You can do this.”

 

And you believed him, but you still felt weary and like your body was made of lead.

 

‘ _ Is this how you felt? _ ’ You asked Mordred as you watched Paris go by you. ‘ _ Before the battle. _ ’

 

“Yes.” He was quiet, his voice barely having more force than a gentle breeze. “But it was a different heaviness from this. An angry one.”

 

It was odd, imagining Mordred angry. You had seen and felt him irritated and impatient and annoyed, but never angry. Least of all the kind of angry that had lead him into battle that day. Perhaps the centuries had mellowed him, or maybe he was simply too tired to muster that kind of anger now. Besides, what would he do with it now? 

 

As promised the driver took you the rental lot, and you thanked her and paid her a tad more than you needed to, and pretended to not notice and hear her objections.

 

The process of renting a car for the day had been smooth, and you were on the road within the hour. You knew it would take four hours to get to Paimpont forest, if you drove non stop, which left you with more time to mull over the decisions you had made that had lead to this moment.

 

The thought that Merlin would not be in that forest terrified you, as you could not think of any other place he could be. You had spent years reading Arthurian legend, even before Mordred came into your life, and many sources named Paimpont as being Brocéliande, the forest where Merlin had been trapped in a hawthorn by Nimue (or Viviane, depending on the source). But if he was there, you and Mordred would free him and do what you could to get him to destroy the grimoire. If you had to beg on your knees you would do it, if it meant taking away the one thing that would restore Morgan to her full power.

 

“I doubt the old man will make you go that far.” Mordred interjected, staring ahead from the passenger seat, eyes flicking up to the rear view mirror to glance at the sports bag in the backseat. “He will want it done too.”

 

“I know.” You whispered. “I just hope we can find him.”

 

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time you got to the forest. What would’ve been a four hour journey had taken longer, due to having to take breaks. By the second hour mark you had begun to feel unclean and made a forty five minute long detour to a public bath house, and soaked for a good hour before going back onto the road.

 

You could not see a public entry into the forest, so you pulled over to the side of the road and walked right into the woods, sports bag slung over your shoulder.

 

“I can feel him. He’s here.” Mordred’s voice was low, and you saw him scanning the surroundings.

 

That was all you needed to hear.

 

You ventured deeper and deeper into the woods, trying to find the hawthorn that held the elderly wizard. While the forest itself had many hawthorns, none of them seemed to be the one you were looking for. The whole time Mordred was there, moving within the shadows of the trees to investigate all of them, but remained silent. This was fine with you, as you could think of nothing to say.

 

Although you had spent the day trying to ignore it, your heart still ached.

 

It had been purely out of impulse that you told Stephen you loved him. Mordred had been telling you to stop the whole time, even threatened to take control and walk away if you wouldn’t. But you had to do it. If you were never going to see Stephen again, you at least wanted him to know how you felt.

 

But then, considering what you’ve done, you probably needn’t had bothered.

 

When you were sure he was asleep, you slipped away back to your room to get your bag, and made your way to the library. You knew that Wong had been studying the grimoire since it’s arrival and he was keeping it in the library, had seen where he put it, and figured it would be easy enough to leave with it.

 

You hadn’t counted on running into Wong himself.

 

He had been startled by your sudden appearance, and raised his brows. “Name! What are you doing up?”

 

All at once the inside of your mouth went dry while your palms became clammy as you spied the grimoire in Wong’s hands. Your eyes slowly rose from it to Wong’s face, doing your best not to cry. You approached him slowly, feeling Mordred rest a comforting hand on your shoulder.

 

Once again, he offered to take control, to relieve you of having to do this. But you had refused.

 

“I’m so sorry.” The whisper left your lips just as you raised your hands to Wong’s temples. Black smoke flowed out of your palms and crawled into Wong’s head, rendering him unconscious within seconds.

 

Before his body had even hit the ground, you grabbed the grimoire and ran.

 

“You’re crying.”

 

You blinked and realized that Mordred was right, and you quickly wiped them away. “I’m fine.” You said quickly, going to look over a hawthorn to ignore your thoughts.

 

“No you’re not.” Mordred was at your side now, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I’m still sorry.” His hand squeezed your shoulder before he wrapped your arm around your shoulders. “I wish none of this had happened to you.”

 

And you couldn’t be angry with him. He had been wandering that battlefield ever since he died at his father’s hand, because he couldn’t leave the world knowing that his mother could rise up and create more chaos. He knew first hand what his mother was capable of, and in death he had grown afraid and soft, not even remotely resembling the sullen young man you had imagined him to be since you first read about him, far from it. You had known him to be nothing but kind and patient, and he had been your greatest friend ever since he (quite literally) wandered into your life. You could never be angry with him. But you hurt all the same.

 

Perhaps it was your own fault, entertaining the notion that you could’ve been with Stephen, even for a moment. Ever since Mordred became a part of you, serious romantic relationships were basically put on standby, until Mordred could finally rest and leave you at peace. And you had grown used to it, you had never really thought about relationships much anyway (although that could’ve been because the ones you had read about tended to end in tragedy). But it had been different with Stephen. Or at least, you let yourself believe it was.

 

* * *

By the time the sun was beginning to set, you still had not found Merlin’s hawthorn. Of course it was unrealistic to expect to find it in one day, after all this was a big forest, and you decided to make your way back to the car to sleep, and resume the search in the morning.

 

You were fairly confident that you were halfway back to the car when you felt goosebumps rise on your skin, and all the hairs standing up.

 

“We aren’t alone.” Mordred hissed, and you watched as he drew his sword. It was the first time he had done so since you met him, and it did nothing to ease your fears.

 

Black smoke began to form around your left arm as your shield began to take shape, and you held it up, quickly pressing your back against Mordred’s. He wasn’t corporeal, but he had assured you many times that his sword could cut just as well as any sharp blade, better even.

 

“I must ask you to stand down Miss Surname.”

 

The voice was unfamiliar to you and held a heavy French accent. Slowly, you lowered your shield despite Mordred’s protests, and found that two of you were surrounded by what appeared be sorcerers like Stephen.

 

There had to be at least a dozen of them, and they all had glyphs conjured and were ready to attack. Your heart began to race as your brain went into overdrive, trying to find a way to resolve this peacefully.

 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” You said with a shaky voice, and you got rid of the shield to prove your sincerity.

 

“You’ll forgive us if we don’t believe you.” The first speaker said. She appeared to be just older than Stephen, and judging by her demeanour you guessed she was the one in charge. “But you can prove it if you hand us the book and come with us quietly.”

 

Panic overcame you before you could think. “I can’t!” You said desperately, eyes darting around at all the other sorcerers, trying to find a way to escape. “It has to stay with me.”

 

The woman frowned. “We can’t do that.” She said firmly. “Just hand it over, and we can-”

 

“No!” You had spoken before you could stop yourself, overwhelmed with fear. “You don’t understand! I-”

 

A pair of whips found themselves wrapped around your wrists, pulling your arms behind your back, while two others ensnared your ankles and forced you onto your knees.

 

Mordred immediately brought down his sword and severed the whips holding your right arm and leg, making their conjurers stumble back as he did the same to the ones on your left.

 

During the brief window of confusion that followed, you ran.

 

Or at least, you tried to. You had barely gone a meter when you were stopped, once again brought to your knees.

 

“Do that again and we won’t be gentle.” The woman warned, her eyes far more fierce. “Now, will you come with us willingly?”

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mordred raise his sword again. ‘ _ Don’t. _ ’ You whispered to him. ‘ _ I’ll go. _ ’ You hung your head and swallowed, as Mordred very reluctantly backed off, but kept his sword drawn. “I’ll go.”

 

“Good.”

 

The sorcerers that were holding your binds brought you back to your feet as the woman formed a portal and lead her team, yourself and, unbeknownst to her, Mordred, through it. The forest was quickly replaced with what appeared to be the inside of a Sanctum, but it was one that was unknown to you. You gazed around the room, in awe at the sight of so much wonder and knowledge, despite the current situation.

 

“We found her in Paimpont forest.” You heard the woman say.

 

“Thank you. Did you have any trouble?”

 

At the sound of a second, far more familiar voice, you tore your gaze away from a very impressive gilded shelf of books, and saw the absolute last man you wanted to see.

 

“Some.” The woman said, glancing back at you. “She managed to break through the bonds and run the first time.”

 

“I told you, she’s strong.” Stephen faced the woman, without even sparing a single glance in your general direction.

 

“Her hands were bound as you suggested.” The woman protested. “I was under the impression she could do nothing without them.”

 

One of Stephen’s brows raised, and a corner of his mouth twitched, and you could tell he was trying hard not to appear to be impressed. “It seems she was holding back while she was with us. Smart really. It would’ve been harder for us to beat her if she revealed all her secrets.”

 

You had to bite your tongue to stop a sob from escaping your throat.

 

“I would like to talk to her.”

 

“Of course.” The woman waved a hand, and the whips that kept you kneeling were gone.

 

Even though you had full control of your legs now, you remained kneeling, unable to bring yourself to move from the floor, or raise your gaze from it. Out of the corners of your eyes you could see the other sorcerers leave you with Stephen, but still you kept your head down, too ashamed to do anything else. It was only when you heard a heavy door close that you dared to lift your gaze.

 

Stephen still wasn’t looking at you. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the wall behind you, and you saw him swallow before he spoke. “You have a lot to answer for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am by no means an expert in arthurian legend, rather more of a 'filthy casual'. hope y'all liked it! remember comments and kudos are what keep me going and to always say thank you to the bus driver.


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